Bolting out of here

So, if you haven't read the 140-character Twitter update yet, let me fill you in. (Of course, even if you have read it, I'll fill you in.)

My check engine light came on yesterday, which bothered me because my Vue is less than a year old and ... well ... it's less than a year old. That's it. But come on, do I really need another reason? By last night, the light had gone back off, but Paul had been planning to take it to Saturn for an oil change anyway ... so might as well kill two birds with one stone.

The oil change went fine, but they told Paul the hybrid battery had been recalled and they needed to replace it. It was scheduled to take three hours, so they gave him a rental (an Impala!) and told him to come back this afternoon.

... To skip ahead a bit, they broke a bolt off the battery carriage thingy and don't have any in stock. One will be here by Friday. I'll get my car back then.

Would it have killed them to mail me (or e-mail me!) a recall notice? The timing, though, is really fortunate; the check engine light was on because the battery wasn't holding a charge, meaning the car was running on gasoline only ... thus defeating the point of having a hybrid. And with my trip to Charleston in a few weeks, that would've been very annoying indeed.

But here's the "Aww, maaaan" part: I kind of live out of that car. All of my hoodies are in there ... and my parking lot hangtag, my sunglasses, other clothes (I like to dress while driving ... kidding), and so on. Fortunately, I took out my GPS and Birkenstocks.

I think I'm going to run by Saturn in the morning under the guise of picking up my hangtag -- which I really do need -- and grab some hoodies and my sunglasses while I'm there.

Who's watching the watchmen?

A couple of weeks ago, I moved my copy of Watchmen from my bookshelf to my rarely used computer desk, fully intending to, you know, read it. Because that’s what one usually does with books. It’s still sitting on my desk.

I haven’t read it since college, and I’d like to one more time before the film comes out next year. I guess my main “concern” (and I use the term loosely because I’m not much of a movie buff) is that the movie will lose a lot of what’s in the book. Full disclosure: I’ve never seen Dawn of the Dead OR 300, but I know people generally love or hate Zack Snyder’s work. ... And with Watchmen, we're talking about a book that people said could never be turned into a movie.

It boils down to the same problem I see with a Sandman film – or even a series. I love Sandman and the idea of a film is exciting, but practically speaking, I’m just not sure it would work. (Gaiman himself years ago said the project is in "development hell," though last year, he said he thinks its time "is coming soon.") I would like to see who they'd cast for, say, Delirium and Thessaly. No, wait! Who would they cast as Lucien?

Speaking of casting, I’m not super-thrilled with the cast of Watchmen, though I won’t write it off just for that. I just don’t think anyone has enough star power on his or her own to be a big box-office draw. Paul, on the other hand, said that's fitting because the heroes themselves are somewhat out of the spotlight.

Anyway, now that I've taken the first step and pulled the book from the shelf, I’ll probably find a half-dozen reasons to put off reading it, such as Squeenix’s The World Ends With You, though the game is new enough that I'm having trouble finding it in stores. We'll see.

To my Saturday night dinner guests

We had no problem deciding on a restaurant. All four of us piled into the Vue, rolled down the windows, tossed on some NIN and Daft Punk and drove Downtown. All was well until it came time to find a parking place. I wanted to park at my office -- seven blocks away and free -- and walk. I was vetoed by all three of my partners-in-crime that night, one claiming laziness and the other two quite sure we'd be mugged.

I tried to allay their fears. Last time he was in town, Matt gave me the walkthrough for dealing with the panhandlers (He's quite charming!), and I've come to know a few of the regulars around the office. In general, I can say on sight who is harmless and who needs to stay at a far distance. "Come on, guys," I pleaded with my partners-in-crime as pitifully as I could. "I've lived Downtown. It's safe Downtown. I promise you nothing is going to happen."

The words "Trust me on this one" hadn't even left my lips when, by popular vote, it was determined we'd park in a paid garage near the restaurant. We took the easy road, and sure enough, didn't get robbed. But we missed out on a heckuva walk.

Check out the sign I snapped near PaperWorks (South Bluffs area) Monday afternoon. Even the taggers say you don't have anything to worry about. They want you to know you are, indeed, safe Downtown. Hey. if the locals have your back, you've got it going on.

Reunions, Weekend recap

Paul and I went to a family gathering-of-sorts yesterday for an uncle from California who has a house outside Memphis and visits a couple of times a year. I wasn’t expecting to see my cousin, Ashley, who’s in town for her 10-year high school reunion.

Looks like I’ll be missing my own 10-year reunion by a measly week. Paul’s school is having an alumni Mass May 22 – the same week we’ll be visiting Charleston. It’s kind of funny how we both skipped our proms in favor of going to the arcade (we're very cool), but we had actually considered going to our 10-year reunions ... and now we can’t go. Meh. I’m not that hard to track down if anyone cares ... and I’m pretty sure they don’t.

Anyway, Ashley teaches theater stuff at University of Tulsa – exotic things I know nothing about, such as costume and scenery design. Being our age and having just gone through a teaching-related move a year ago, she gave Paul some practical advice on being a professor and gave me some advice on meeting people after we move. (This, of course, is much easier for extrovert theater types.)

She’s only nine months older than me and shared a lot when we were kids, but we ended up in completely different places: She’s artsy and outgoing; I’m overly practical and quiet. (This blog is about as chatty as I get.) I look up to her for her complete individuality. Blue highlights in her hair? Cool. Fourth lizard tattoo. Very cool. Living on the 19th floor of a high-rise that’s also home to a fallen-from-grace child star who I’m not supposed to name? … Well, I guess that’s not so cool, but it’s definitely a kitsch boost.

She’ll be back in Memphis in early June, right after we get back from Charleston. Hopefully I get to see her for longer than, like, three hours.

Other weekend stuff: played Rock Band; played Rock Band with Paul and Matthew; played Rock Bank with Paul, Johanna and Matthew; played Rock Bank with Paul. Wanted to go bowling but was vetoed. Tried to convince Matthew to go to the NIN concert in Knoxville with me (he emphatically declined). Broke the land speed record. Had a lot of fun.

Common ground

"We must agree on what matters: kissing in public places, bacon sandwiches, disagreement, cutting-edge fashion, literature, generosity, water, a more equitable distribution of the world's resources, movies, music, freedom of thought, beauty, love. These will be our weapons."

— Salman Rushdie

Now go into the world and find some common ground. We all need allies.

Much love this weekend,
ks

Mushroom, mushroom

... and the cat just looks on.

Please tell me you guys know the badger song. The person who sent me this pic had never heard the badger song. Snaaaaake.

Master of my domain

I've convinced Matt to turn the marbles/pendants thing into an indie Etsy business – at least until he's set firm prices, found a brick-and-mortar store to carry them, and so on.

His pre-Etsy work is to set up a Paypal account into which buyers will deposit large sums of cash. My job is to set up the Etsy account itself, which makes it sound like I got off easy, except I've got to work up a banner design and other little things like that. We haven't worked out the logistics of actually selling things – who's taking the pictures, doing the shipping, etc. – but he admits he kind of works in Matt Time and not Real World Time, which means I could end up doing that stuff, especially after the move.

I also bought a couple of domain names that'll eventually forward to the Etsy page. I had to set them up to point somewhere but couldn't remember my DNSes for the life of me, so I ran a whois on katesink.com. As a courtesy, the site where I ran the whois generated a list of available domains similar to katesink.

The "similar domains" included various takes on kate and sink, including katiesewer.net and katherinebasin.com. Sigh.

Look, about 15 minutes after I bought katesink.com, I realized that when you lowercase it and run it all together, Kate's Ink looks an awful lot like Kate Sink. But for the most part, with the exception of folks occasionally thinking the "ink" should be an "inc" (i.e., incorporated), people get my domain name. My name's Kate. I'm an editor who blows through red ink fast enough that I'd probably be best served with an IV drip. (It's not just at the office; I usually have a red pen on me, so a lot of stuff I write is in red. Bank tellers hate it when I sign or endorse checks in red. Eh, it won't kill 'em.)

PC Magazine published in September a list of unfortunate domain names, including IHA Vegas (www.ihavegas.com - now "under maintenance"), Mole Station Nursery (www.molestationnursery.com - taken down) and Therapist Finder (www.therapistfinder.com - still active).

Certainly, katesink.com does not live up to those lofty standards. Maybe I should switch over to katherinetub.com or katiebowl.org. But if so, I'd likely have to change my tagline from "Is this thing on?" as well. The new one would have to be as obtuse as the current one, maybe with a bit of snarkiness thrown in. "Rush to the Head!" comes to mind. Other suggestions for plumbing-related taglines?

And so Sally can wait ...

Word on the street is that I'm getting another shipment of marbles soon. It's good timing because it's fun in a mind-numbing way (why watch crappy movies when you can listen to crappy movies?). However, it's bad timing because my Xbox 360 is still new enough to where the novelty hasn't worn off.

And it's not just Rock Band, either. Last night, I was zoned out on Xanax, playing virtual Uno against three computer players. Each of them handily beat me several times in a row. Same thing happened to me over the weekend; I played two hours of virtual Uno while I was gabbing on the phone (multitasking, Kate-style), and won maybe three hands. I think it was two, but it might have been three. The computer cheats.

As far as Rock Band goes, I can't rock out on the virtual guitar or drum or bass, but I can kinda sorta feel my way through the vocals. My current favorite songs are "Maps" (Yeah Yeah Yeahs) and "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" (Blue Oyster Cult). I'm used to scoring around 95% to 97% on vocals, but I can hit 99% easily on each of those.

We bought three add-on songs last night: "Ride the Lightning" (Metallica), "Sex Type Thing" (Stone Temple Pilots) and "Don't Look Back in Anger" (Oasis). I scored my first perfect score on "Don't Look Back in Anger," then stopped while I was ahead.

I guess a perfect score makes it "my song."

Regarding "my song," sorry, Nirvana – Kurt Cobain is out and Liam Gallagher is totally in. <3

To E (A: Statue of Liberation)

The Statue of Liberation is a modified replica of the Statue of Liberty, and at 72 feet tall, about half the height of Lady Liberty. Liberation, which holds a cross in one hand and the Ten Commandments in the other, stands in front of World Overcomers church at the corner of Winchester Road and Kirby Parkway. (This, E., is what took me so long to get the photo. I’m never in that part of town. Ever.)

Here's a pic of the front of the church.

World Overcomers left their Highland Avenue facilities (now Crichton College) to move to the former Central Church (that round thingy and the site of Paul’s high school graduation) in 2001. The Statue of Liberation went up in 2006, and people either love or hate it. Good commentary at Blake Fontenay’s blog at the CA. It’s pretty funny, and the comments afterwards are …outspoken.

E: The clues are getting harder, but I think it’s because the landmarks are getting more obscure. That’s cool. Time’s tickin’ and the obvious landmarks are all gone.

Oh, one more thing: The real Statue of Liberty was erected in 1886, the same year the newspaper I work for was founded. That's really, really, really, really old.

On (not) caring

In the past couple of days, I’ve asked two people the same question: When I act like I don’t care, do you believe it? Consider it market research. It’s a loaded question. One didn’t answer at all, and the other answered in a perfectly acceptable way: “Nope, but I let it slide.” Good answer.

There’s very little I don’t care about, except maybe which hoodie I wear to work … or that only my pinky nails are painted, and different colors at that. I also don’t care that my house is a mess or that the guy I share an office with has to listen to me eat a bowl of dry, generic Blueberry Almond Crisp every morning. (Okay, I do care about that a little bit. But in my defense, I have to listen to him eat bran flakes.)

For the most part, I care about what my friends care about. I want them to be happy. Sometimes that means trying really hard to act like I don't care. I know everyone’s got to find their own way and I shouldn’t be so protective. Most of the time, when I act like I don’t care, I do. A lot. And, for the most part, they know and I know and everyone knows exactly what I'm doing. And they let it slide anyway.

I probably could come right out and say what’s bugging me because it wouldn’t make any difference – that’s generally what happens when friends have stubborn streaks a mile wide. It’s been established nobody can convince me of anything for which I don’t want to be convinced, but sometimes I really, really want to be convinced.

I want things to turn out okay, especially when I have no say. Instead, I've gotta put on my game face and trust that when it's time, I won't be let down.

Gosh, I hope the Blueberry Almond Crisp thing doesn’t get on my officemate’s nerves. Hmm.

P.S. I've been told my Twitter updates are vague and cryptic. You mean like this post? Eh, don't walk into this with any expectations and you won't be disappointed. Twice a month or so, I allow myself some introspection. Consider this one of those times. <3

[Edit: I asked Paul the same question this morning, and his response: "Not at all. People know you worry about everything, so chances are that when you're acting like you're not worried, you are worried. Or, like, if I ask what you want for dinner and you say you don't care, I know you really do care." (I like how worrying and picking a place to eat dinner are exactly the same.) I asked him why he never calls me on it, and he said, "Because if I did, you'd get huffy." Huffy, huh? I'll show him huffy.]

Cincy and a riddle

This is Cincy. When she's not playing with The Neckbeards, she's on a solo world tour (right now, she's in London). She writes none of her own songs, but has a strong repertoire of A- and B-sides from yesterday's and today's top vocalists.

Also, she has really cool bangs. Man, that's something I wish I'd done when I was in college: Dye my hair an insanely cute color like Matthew did. Sooo cute!

Cincy has made more than $6,000 on her world tour, picking up roughly $100 to $200 a song. Also -- and I'm not sure how this works -- she picks up new clothes with each song, such as gloves or the cute corset set that you can't really see in the picture to the left.

A friend and I have been trading riddles the past couple of days, and I've managed to stump him with this one. Do you know the answer? If you do, don't post it, but leave a comment that you know what it is. First one to message me with the right answer gets gushing e-praise.

Two men are on trial for robbery. One is cleared of the charges; the other is found guilty. The convict is brought into the court room on sentencing day, and the judge tells him, "Though you have been found guilty, I must set aside your prison sentence. You are now a free man." Why?

If no one gets it, I'll give a couple of clues in my next post.

And our birthdays aren't for another month

Early birthday gift from little bro-in-law: half of an Xbox 360. (If that link shows a pic of Paul and me, reload.)

Matthew first brought up the idea when he drove over to borrow our blender last month. (How many stories start out like that?) "We don't need another console," I mumbled, hunched over a bag of beads, trying to label this and that. And it's true. ... We really don't need another console. Our entertainment center and the table in front of it are littered with a PS, PS2, GC, Wii, DDR pad, plus games and controllers for each. The NES gets its own TV and lives in the room next door.

"But if you get an Xbox, you can play with me from Charleston!" Aww! I thought that was pretty sweet -- he hasn't really indicated he's going to miss us much -- but I didn't expect him to follow through on the offer.

And when I got home from work last night, Paul met me at the car, beaming. He'd bought Rock Band. Rock Band! For real! We had intended to eat dinner, but we played for, seriously, like three hours. Our band is named The Neckbeards. My character, Cincy, is the lead singer. She has pink and green ponytails, a look I so wish I could pull off. Paul's character, Buffalo, looks like a cross between He-Man and a glam rocker and plays a mean guitar. We're still looking for a drummer. Where does one go to find a drummer?

Hopefully the guys are right and this will bridge the miles (and maybe make me a little less lonely) when we move.

I guess Matthew can keep the blender.

On being a mattress

"We could have a conversation," said the mattress. "Would you like that?"

Marvin and the mattress. I hadn’t read it in years, and honestly hadn’t thought about it until a friend started quoting it the other day.

I admire the mattress. There’s something quite satisfying about gently prodding until someone opens up, then just listening and being there, knowing things will work themselves out. On the very rare occasions I do interviews these days, I end with this: What question didn’t I ask that you wanted me to ask?

Sometimes it takes a while to draw it out, but everyone has a question. Everyone has something they want to get on the table. And once the question is out there, the answer follows – sometimes gushing, sometimes dripping, sometimes requiring a little more prodding … but always worth it in the end.

So there’s my lesson for the week, kiddos. Much good can come from being more mattressy, finding a Marvin and digging in your heels. On the other side of the marsh, there are speeches galore – you just have to find them.

“Did it glitter?” enthused the mattress. “It glittered.”
“Did it span the miles majestically?” “It spanned the miles majestically.”
“Did it stretch like a silver thread far out into the invisible mist?”
“Yes,” said Marvin. “Do you want to hear this story?”
"I want to hear your speech," said the mattress.

I'm still not sure why we're messing with natural selection

There's nothing more ageist than age-restricted communities.

Over 55? Here's a tree-lined, gated neighborhood where you can golf and play bridge and sit around the pool in your swim trunks with other sagging, in-denial, past-middle-age individuals. Under 55? Stay the hell away. We don't serve your type 'round these parts.

I'm edging my way to 30. I work a 9-to-5. I live in a nice, brick house in personality-deprived suburbia -- soccer moms with SUVs, gas grills in backyards.

And children. Lots and lots of children. Children playing basketball. Children riding bicycles. Children playing basketball while riding bicycles. Oblivious children. Children with death wishes who run in front of cars.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Why did the stupid child cross the road in front of my car? I. Have. No. Idea. It's not like one side of the street is more alluring than the other, like the houses on one side are constructed solely of candy while houses on the other side are all brussels sprouts and broccoli.

Maybe the answers are on this site. Among the "tips":

• Children have difficulty determining where a sound is coming from. Traffic noises and sirens may confuse them.
• Children often mix fantasy with reality. They may give themselves superhuman powers and do not understand that a moving vehicle can hurt them.

In other words, kids these days are too dumb for their own good. And the whole "kids are fat and need to play outdoors more" edict means adults suffer while going about their normal adult activities like ... driving to work, driving home from work, and driving to a restaurant because adults don't have to cook if they don't want to.

So kids, listen to Ms. Kate: Play your video games. Surf the internet. Text message your friends. ... But whatever you do, do it indoors.

The person who came up with the idea of 55-plus communities is a genius -- a genius I'll get to meet in 27 years when the gates open wide and I'm allowed into the inner sanctum of child-free utopia.

I can't wait.

It's like singing to your steering wheel, except you're graded on it

Paul can't carry a tune to save his life. For real. He sounds kind of like ... an elephant giving birth to a really big elephant baby.

I've known for a long time that Paul can't sing. You don't have to hang out with him for long to figure out it. Toss on some good Metallica, a la the black album, and he butchers the vocals into bad Metallica, a la St. Anger. That's pretty bad.

So when Johanna suggested bringing over three Karaoke Revolution games Saturday, I had two reactions:

1. Well, crap. I have to listen to Paul sing.
   
2. At least we're not going to a real karaoke bar.

Now, Johanna has a theory when it comes to karaoke: Everyone has their song. You know ... the one that just fits, the one that showcases their vocal awesomeness. I don't know the validity of her argument; Axl Rose never found his song, but he sold millions of records in spite of it.

Johanna's song is Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf," which, incidentally, has some really messed-up lyrics. "Smell like I sound"? What the hell? It's one of those songs where I never really thought about the lyrics until they were splashed on the screen. "Strut on a line/It's discord and rhyme"? Whatever. Keep your wolf to yourself.

My song? Maybe Paul can weigh in on that. I can tell you it's definitely not R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It," which I sang something like this: "Feed it up a knock, speed, grunt, uh uh uh uh uh ... uh uh ... uh uh uh (ooh ooh, get ready, here it comes!) It's the end of the world as we knooooow it, it's the end of the world as we knooooow it, it's the end of the world as we knooooow it, and I feel fiiiiine." (This screenshot is me butchering R.E.M.)

Paul's song is ... get ready ... Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." He actually sang it. And he did a decent job, as far as his singing goes. And he danced. He really got into it, and he was completely sober.

Fire away, indeed.

To E (A: Sun Studio)

Sun Studio. I've never taken the tour (gosh, I'm such a bad Memphian when it comes to music history -- no Graceland, no Sun, no Rock 'n' Soul Museum, no Gibson ...), but I can tell you that this itsy-bitsy building has seen his share of budding luminaries waltz through its door. Elvis, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash.

I wish the van hadn't been parked in front of the building, Sun logo or not.

As I said in my note to E before, I had a much easier time with this clue than Paul did. I know my They Might Be Giants, thankyouverymuch, while he struggled over much more cerebral interpretations. ::grins::

I really do want to take the tour. I'm going to have to enlist some friends for a whirlwind "Oh my gosh, I've got a lot of sightseeing to do" tour before I go.

E., glad everything's okay with you. Leaving town is fine, leaving the photo hunt is not. I thought I might've maybe kinda had a guess as to who you were, but alas, someone has poked holes in my theory. And they're right. Boo. Guess it's back to Square One.

Food + Food = ??

I had my first taste of chicken and waffles over the weekend. Good stuff, that. It’s one of those combinations I probably never would’ve made on my own, though I do recall coming up with some interesting “what’s in the cupboard” combos as a hungry, broke college student.

Wiki says chicken and waffles has Southern slave roots, but I can’t help wondering if some stoners with middle-of-the-night munchies decided the combination of dinner and breakfast (dinkfast?) was the best idea ever. And, for once, they were right.

My coworkers and I were talking about chicken and waffles and other interesting food combos – and here’s what we came up with. You guys ever had any of these?

• Shrimp and grits – I was under the impression this was a Southern thing, but I hear it’s actually a Lowcountry staple. A coworker says his mom made shrimp and grits all the time when he was a kid. My mom never made grits, period, but I’ve had shrimp and grits in recent years and like it. I guess that’s a good thing, considering I’m about to be smack dab in the middle of the Lowcountry.
  
• Fried catfish and spaghetti – A friend introduced me to this combination a couple of years ago. Apparently, this is another dish that lots of people -- but not me -- first tried as a child. There’s a meat-and-three place down the street from my office that serves a (very popular!) fried catfish and spaghetti on Fridays. Long, long lines. I hear it’s fantastic, but I’m not a big catfish fan.
  
• Barbecue spaghetti, barbecue baked potatoes, barbecue bologna, and barbecue pizza – Why have a baked potato when you can have a baked potato smothered in pork? Pork-topped food is definitely a Memphis thing. I’d say the best barbecue spaghetti is at Neely’s, the best baked potato is at Pig-N-Whistle, the best bologna is at Interstate Bar-B-Q, and the best pizza is at Coletta’s.
  
• Pizza and ranch dressing – My officemate swears he picked this one up in Texas, where he says it’s not uncommon for pizza to be served with a side of ranch. Matt’s from Michigan and he does this too, but he’s pretty well-traveled, so I guess that explains it. [Edit: Actually, Matt did the ranch thing with barbecue pizza, which technically means he combined two of the combinations on here. Trailblazer.]
  
• Fried Twinkies – Not really a food combo, but Southerners are willing to fry anything. The idea of fried Twinkies grosses me out, but I’ve never tried one. It’s a very popular carnival food around here. Along those same lines but more readily available: fried pickles (Mmm!), fried green tomatoes (Eww!), fried turkey legs (Meh.), fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches (Elvis’ favorite).

Anyone tried any of these or know of any other can’t-miss combos?

A note to E

Long time, no clue-y. Is it because of the tournament? Did your bracket crash and burn? Are you sick? Spring fever? Hay fever? Fever fever?

It's no big deal -- I've been working late on data for days now and trying to finish these wire-wraps. I just noticed you were late with this week's clue and your answer last week wasn't in verse, and I started to worry a bit. Are you bored? Is everything okay?

But, hey, we've established you know me, right? So you know I worry. A lot. And I do my best to take care of my friends.

So if you need anything -- a break? a beer? a hand-torched pendant wrapped in sterling? -- let me know. Don't bring up your secret identity and I'll never know the difference. ^_^

Career Revival Tip #1: Branding

So ... Thursday is T-minus 100. So little time left with my friends. I'm not sure whether to commemorate the occasion by going out for drinks or staying in and watching Spongebob.

Either way, I'll likely be consuming this can of Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt: Asian Experience Energy Drink. (Like my dashboard photo?)

From the Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt website, I have learned "Steven Seagal traveled to Asia searching for the ingredients for Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt" and that it's the first energy drink to include Tibetan goji berries and Asian cordyceps. Mmm. Cordyceps.

I also learned "Steven Seagal now can add 'Energy Drink formulator' to a list of talents that already includes veteran actor, singer/songwriter, guitarist, and Aikido black belt."

The site is a treasure trove of ... wisdom ... or something like that. Save me the trouble of quoting it all here and just visit it yourself.

FYI: The first answer is "Married and goofy"

I'm jumping on Smack's Photo Meme bandwagon ... five days late.

DIRECTIONS:

1. Go to http://www.photobucket.com/
2. Type in your answer to the question in the “search” box.
3. Use only the first page.
4. Insert the picture into your Blog.

1. What is your relationship status?



2. What is your current mood?



3. Who is your Favorite Band/Artist?



4. What is your favorite movie?



5. What kind of pet do you have?



6. What is your favorite drink?

Dear Tigers,

The NCAA championship is over, and Kansas bested you in overtime. I bet it was a hard game to play; I know it was a hard game to watch. Though you're ending your season second-best in the nation, you have a lot of which to be proud.

This year, you set the record for most season-single wins. Chris Douglas-Roberts was nominated for a Naismith Trophy. Derrick Rose was up for a Cousy. Antonio Anderson was C-USA Player of the Year. Dorsey was C-USA Defensive Player of the Year. The Tigers ranked No. 1 for the first time in more than two decades and held the position for five weeks.

I could go on.

But let's just get to what matters. You have brought together an entire city and blanketed it in blue. We have crowded into stadiums and around televisions. We've yelled until our throats were sore; some of us have even learned the words to the fight song! We've cheered with old friends and made new friends at stadiums and in lines.

You're still kids -- 20, 21 years old. Big D, you're only 24. That's a lot of pressure to have on your shoulders when you're that young.

So thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better season to mark my last in Memphis. I wish it never had to end; I'm just not ready to move on yet. Some of you will move on to the NBA, others will stay another year and lead another fantastic team. And no matter which path you choose, my heart will be with you.

And I'll always be proud to be a Tiger.

Storming the Alamo

38 games down, one to go. Tomorrow night is the NCAA Championships: Memphis vs. Kansas. The Tigers can pull this off, even if our star freshman eats too much junk food. Derrick Rose and Paul have so much in common -- pizza, Twizzlers, sour straws -- except Paul doesn't work out five hours a day and isn't nearly as good as basketball. (But I love him anyway!)

I've spent much of the weekend with pliers in hand (round-nose in my left, chain-nose in my right -- and now you know), which is a fine way to while away time and keep stress at bay. After a week of wire-wrapping practice marbles, I finally (!) got eight marbles from Matt. Actually, to be specific, Matt put eight marbles in a baggie (glass marbles ... in a baggie ...), then gave the baggie to his brother, who wrapped it in an old Wall Street Journal and popped it in the mail for me. I was kind of disappointed it was a WSJ; when I get something wrapped in newspaper -- which isn't often, as I don't get nearly as many packages as I'd like -- I like to uncrinkle it and read the local news. I already read WSJ, so it takes the fun out of it for me.

The marbles are beautiful. Lots of pretty colors.

My hands are killing me, but I've finished two. Pics here.

Cross-dressing, kind of

In the past two weeks, I have doubled my wardrobe with an influx of tees, button-down dress shirts, sweaters and hoodies. Oh, and a super-cool suede jacket. Some really nice stuff, and it’s all mine.

See, when you get married, one of the vows is “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.” At least, I think that’s one of the vows. I don’t remember much about my wedding other than the minister’s “woman submits to man” speech, which was included despite Paul’s adamant opposition beforehand. I don’t do the submission thing; just because you can pee standing up doesn’t make you a demi-god.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong about the “What’s yours is mine” vow. But, come on, when the minister asks, “Do you take this man…,” isn’t he really asking, “Do you take this man and his tees, button-down dress shirts, sweaters and hoodies…”? Oh, and the suede jacket. Don’t forget the suede jacket.

Paul and I already share a lot of tees, and we have for years. For example, we bought four Final Four shirts leading up to this weekend’s game. Today I am wearing the one he wanted to wear, but it doesn’t matter – he has three others from which to choose. On our honeymoon in Disney World almost six years ago, we bought matching shirts featuring Grumpy of Snow White fame. One day, I realized I hadn’t seen my Grumpy shirt in a while … and noticed Paul was wearing his Grumpy shirt twice as often … and one plus one equaled, “You stole my shirt, you jerk!”

He makes this hard-to-resist face when he knows he’s guilty – the “Who me? But I’m so cute!” look.

Anyway, turnabout is fair play, so I've appropriated some of his stuff as my own. My reasoning:

• I have lost 10 pounds in three weeks and deserve “new” clothes.
  
• Paul doesn’t wear much other than the same six tees and jeans, most of which have laboratory-related acid holes here and there.
  
• He’s about to become a uniformed man, so he doesn’t need a huge wardrobe.
  
• Once I've added some feminine accessories, his shirts look decent on me.
  
• I go to bed after him and wake up two hours earlier, so he doesn’t know I’ve pilfered his shirts until it’s too late and I’m walking out the door.

Oh! And:

• He stole my Grumpy shirt and wore it until it hit that tipping point of “This really shouldn’t be used for anything other than dusting furniture.” (Reduce, reuse, refuse to throw shirts away.)

I’ve never been much of a clotheshorse – and I find shopping for clothes almost as loathsome as the “woman submits to man” speech – so I’m delighted that his half of the closet is now first-come-first-serve. And I take great pride knowing I'm saving precious natural resources by drastically cutting how often I do laundry.

I’m also dutifully attempting to fulfill the “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours” marital vow. Unfortunately, Paul doesn’t seem interested in wearing my clothes – word on the street is that menswear looks good on women, but not the other way around – so I’ve had to modify the vow a bit: What’s his is mine and what’s mine is mine, too. Even the suede jacket.

Next-to-last bracket update: I'm smokin' Paul

Bracket update with only three NCAA tournament games left. You'll probably have to click through for a readable version. You don't need to click to see that at #6 ("K8," outlined in red), I am doing much better than Paul (#22 of 23, "So incredibly unlikely," outlined in blue).

I wish I knew the other person outlined in red -- we are tied pick for pick, point for point in every round! My work bracket (click here) is the same way: I'm tied at #8 with the guy with whom I share an office ("CDR's Winners"), even though we have different picks.

My original M.O. was just to beat Paul, but that's no challenge at all. My new M.O. is to beat Paul and my officemate. March Madness may be over in a week, but bragging rights last forever.